


Time is on Our Side

by helena_s_renn



Series: Leaning, Learning [1]
Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Baby Lepps, Bandom - Freeform, Friendship, Frottage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentions of het, Smoking, Various and sundry firsts, underage sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: In the summer of 1979, Def Leppard's new drummer immerses himself in his new vocation. He finds himself slowly becoming aware of some of his older bandmates' on-the-sly... extracurriculars.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is Rick [Allen]-centric. 
> 
> If you're wondering why he's not in school: because he wasn't in RL. 
> 
> IDK when Rick Savage started using the moniker Sav... Trying to deal with two Ricks or alternately using the first _and_ last names were both "no". Allen is Rick and Savage is Sav for the entirety of the story.
> 
> 16 is legal age of consent in the UK. 
> 
> I'm not able to post this fic to my other usual archive; AO3 is the only place this piece will appear.
> 
> Excellent beta by Christian.Howe for all chapters except 5, which is unbeta'd. Any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> EDIT: 9/25/2018 - this fic will be periodically locked depending on my level of paranoia. Register or contact me for an invite to join AO3 if you want full-time access.

-1979, End of Summer

What a year. Almost-year. Gigs, festivals, travelling, dodging truant officers. "I'm in the band" got him into pubs without ID, because he wasn't old enough to have one. Being served beers, no questions asked, was an added perk. Rick was away from home a lot, away from parental and other watchful eyes, doing things most teenagers could only dream about, him and his new mates. In a sink or swim fashion, he quickly learned how to read whether he was welcome or not in people's company, and to make himself at home when he was. His parents had cut him loose, not in a negative sense; they allowed him the freedom to be his own man, an adult, to follow where his talents led him now while he had the fire, without putting his life on hold for a year or two. In the US, it was called emancipated minor, he learned later. Hell, the others in the band would be well into their twenties before they got that sort of latitude. 

It was the band that opened those doors for him. Their music. Their show. There he was one of five, the newest, the youngest. Granted, he was behind his kit, not out front shoving his axe or his pelvis toward drooling... well, they didn't exactly have groupies but they got plenty of appreciation from females who came to see their gigs. Rick could hardly believe it, that these women, sometimes there on a fake ID but sometimes as much as ten or twelve years his senior and _fit_ , let him chat them up. Not just that but they'd go with him out into the alley, or into the loo, sometimes they'd know of somewhere private nearby and then... they invited him to touch their bodies. And more. 

Between the four others, they had a lot of mates and acquaintances in their general age group. They prowled the streets, drove around in junky old cars. Every day, it seemed, Rick met more new people, lots of blokes but girls, too. He learned to get his story straight, what to say about himself and Def Leppard when asked, and what not. This just couldn't have happened out in the countryside. 

Thanks to Joe's record collection, he heard music he might not have. The bloke had a penchant for Mott the Hoople, Queen, and the three B's (Bowie, Bolan, and Blackmore). The first time he'd heard Boston was up in Joe's room. It didn't take him much to hear how what they listened to directly influenced what they wrote. Another revelation. Sometimes they'd go to see other bands live, local or famous, to get caught up in the energy and be part of the herd. It was for fun and to blow off some steam but also for professional research, though none of them would have put it that way. What moves were cool, what looked and sounded awkward, what happened when your backing vocalist was tone deaf, or when your bass player's amp overpowered the drums: these were only a few of the critiquable minor catastrophes they witnessed. Conversely, the spine-shivering, breath-holding, tear-jerking melodrama of precision four-part harmony, or the strategic use of a non-standard instrument like a cello. Even a 15-year-old percussionist could grasp the possibilities. Rick rounded up a cowbell, a slap, wind chimes. 

When they didn't have a gig, he'd still stay in Sheffield proper most nights, crashing on the couch or spare bed of whoever had room and was least fed up with him that day. Some mornings, there'd be hang-overs, nothing but weak tea and paracetamol. Others, a full breakfast fry-up if someone's mum was feeling generous. Then another day of practice and waiting around for the others to finish their day jobs, something Rick was also too young for. Well, no. He had a job, one he valued highly.

Older blokes, musicians or wanna-bes in their scene, they didn't know what to make of him. A kid his age could cut it? Bloody right, he could more than cut it. Rick trained his freckled, apple-cheeked face into a sometimes glaring fierceness, and his photographic presence into the "fuck you" attitude having older brothers necessitated. There were those who scoffed and still tried to weasel their way into an audition, because they thought they could do better. Maybe they could, but his band would always close ranks around him and that was that. They had his back.

But there was something else. Rick had, on more than one occasion, stumbled across things in dark corners. Never Pete, but the other three, they seemed to... what? Yeah, they got some action with birds, same as Rick if he was presented the opportunity. Plenty more than just snogging and petting went on, out of his line of sight. There seemed to be a memorandum Rick wasn't privy to, that his older bandmates didn't expose him, as it were, to their sexual exploits.

He didn't know what to call this overflow of too much testosterone, energy, creativity and horniness to be contained. When he got a glimpse of Joe with his tongue down Sav's throat before the door to the only stall in the gents swung closed, he was sure he'd imagined it. Must've been pre-show nerves manifesting in some strange way. It made Rick's guts squirm like earthworms in dirt, as he tried to make sense of why they'd do that. Yep, it had to have been a trick of the light. 

It was a month later and he'd all but forgotten about it when, at Joe's house one night, up in his room listening to his favourite band again Rick noticed how Steve was draped over Sav's lap like a blanket, all four of their hands hanging easy between Steve's knees, well, no, one of Sav's hands was higher. Rick blinked and looked away. When he dared check again they'd moved, but he'd swear it was burned into his eyelids. That wasn't all. There was this one time Joe seemed to be pushing Steve into the back corner of their tiny dressing room... repeatedly. On stage, Joe was always hanging off one of the front line, one arm thrown around whoever's neck, their heads pressed together to sing. Or once, in the van in the middle of the night, they must've thought everyone else was asleep but he'd turned around and there was Steve, running his fingers up and down Sav's neck and then down further, playing with smooth skin left bare by his open shirt, circling his nipple. Sav's head was back, his eyes closed, Adam's apple hitching, practically purring. The most confusing part? It was hot! That time, Rick got a hard-on from it and it wouldn't go down. Over his mates! That wasn't right...

And then, fucking hell, he caught the three of them at once. In the showers, long after the final number of the final band of some long-defunct summer festival. It was dank, dark and steamy in there but they were definitely all naked and no one could call that washing. His first thought was that they were stupid idiots to risk getting found out. "Poofs!" sneered his upbringing. Rick clamped his jaws and put it down to keeping his mouth shut; he didn't want to be fired for blurting out the wrong thing at the wrong time. Physical violence? He probably wouldn't. Joe for certain could wipe the floor with him.

He had to _know_. Because it was either him or Rick's own parents, Rick went to Pete.To ask him... what exactly? It was a stilted conversation, where he got dark looks from behind dark hair. About all he could fathom was that Pete was aware of it, wasn't into it, didn't care who they boned and didn't want to hear about it. He issued a strong warning: Should Rick choose to partake, he had best watch his back and his mouth. If one word of it got out, they were finished; there'd be no musical careers for any of them, not within a subculture that was rampantly homophobic. 

He kept telling himself to stop paying attention to it and concentrate on his job, his playing. No one was overt; ninety-nine percent of the time they were like any other young Northern blokes, working their odd jobs, planning their imaginary lives as rock stars, taking the piss out of each other and doing whatever they could to escape factory life. Yet Rick couldn't stop daydreaming about it; he became fixated on the casual yet focused sensuality. Natural curiosity won out over the message absorbed by osmosis for almost 16 years: that anything less than 100 percent straight was the worst sin of all. He'd started seeing a lot of things differently. Just because everyone you knew thought a certain way, because their parents did, and their parents did and so on, didn't make them right.

So then, he started analysing. Of the three in question, Steve, he decided, appealed to him most, possibly because it had been his fingers at work that night in the dark when the light had blinked on in Rick's brain. Somehow Sav struck him as too... feminine. No, he didn't walk, talk, or act like a girl, not with his flat chest, happy trail and lingering footballer attitude. Just... something. If Rick wanted to get with a female, he was perfectly capable of finding one with boobs and no tackle. Joe? Well, Joe intimidated him, period. Too much older, too tall, too 'in charge'. Maybe when he was older himself they could have a conversation beyond the singer chopping the "cut" motion in the air with his hand, flipping around in a huff and fixing his stare on whoever had screwed up, Rick more often than the rest or so it seemed to him. Yeah, they chose him, they kept him, but he had to work his arse off for it. They all did, though. 

It took him all summer to work up the nerve to even halfway broach the subject of... whatever... after an outdoor gig in late August. It was so hot on stage, under the lights, all of them drenched in sweat, stripping off their clothes... he'd never smelled so many ripe pheromones in his life. Finally, he approached; the others had pulled or were off drinking somewhere and it was just himself and Steve standing by the van, having a smoke. Groups of people were milling around, but none in immediate earshot. 

"Steve..."

"Hm?" The guitarist, he noticed, was side-eying a tiny bleached blonde with some major cleavage, and getting a wink or two in return.

Rick was right there, right on the cusp, but he waited half a second too long to speak and chickened out. "Uh... I think you should take the solo for Overture."

"Oh really? Why's that?" Steve looked over at him curiously. 

Despite having been playing for almost half his life, Rick had never been asked by someone he considered a real guitarist for his honest opinion. "Nothing against Pete's style, but..." he was forced to invent wording for his nascent thoughts, "it needs less bark and more... howl. His sound is rough, raunchy, which is fine, we need it. Yours is. I dunno..." Rick took a long drag, held it, let it out. "Pensive? No. Lyrical. Soloing, not your, um, riffs. I dunno." Perhaps he'd said too much. He was blushing, there in the dark alleyway behind the venue. 

For a minute, Steve said nothing. Then, "Really, kid. Thanks." This came out with the intonation of a question. "You and I have that in common, then."

About to blurt they might have something else in common, Rick was either saved or thwarted by Joe appearing, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. "Ready to get on the road?" he asked. He was met by two shrugs. "What? Couldn't pull?" This was directed at Steve. None of them said a word about whatever Rick got up to after shows and no one invited any conversation about that with him, either, the way they sometimes bantered between themselves. More shrugs, and the middle finger from Steve, who grumbled about missing his chance.

Well, Rick thought, sagging against the warm metal of the van's side wall, hot and cold flashing once over his body followed by flop sweat accompanying his adrenaline let-down, that was that. For now. There'd always be another show.


	2. Chapter 2

-1979 - Autumn

There were more shows, sometimes more than one in a weekend, sometimes closer to a month apart. Between, it was rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. Soon there were talks of recording, a full album this time. Rick was keen to do it since he'd missed being on the Def Leppard debut EP by weeks. Couldn't wait, in fact. 

The last few months had been something like baptism by fire and metal. He lived for the high of performing, travelling, being part of an up-and-coming band, and everything. Sometimes he felt like he never wanted to get off the stage, or out from behind his kit. He loved their music, loved playing it. It was fast and raw, it growled and raged and whined, it screeched and pounded. Even in the slower pieces, there was still some wild, elusive beauty. It wasn't much yet, but when they all raised their voices together, even Rick, it gave him those shivers he'd felt very occasionally at other groups' shows. None of them had grown up singing at school; they had no training, no lessons, but they were learning. Sometimes Joe would scream like this one particularly loud bird Rick had banged in Manchester (which would always be a good memory for him) and they were amazed. From one day to the next, their sound was always changing. 

Those quick flashes of... other things... going on between his bandmates. He grew to expect the unexpected, the unpredictable, because he'd have driven himself mad with any further attempt at confronting them outright. It became a game of him pretending not to know, the three culprits pretending not to know he knew. If not Joe with Sav pinned to a wall, their hands working furiously between them, there were just little things, a quick peck here in some darkened hallway or an arse-grab there behind the amps, that he wasn't supposed to see. Or was he? 

One evening, packing up before a gig, Steve wandered over to help him load his gear into the van parked in front of the old spoon factory. Rick had already run all the pieces down to ground level. The full kit with all the cymbals and hardware took time, although now that the guitarists had what they called rigs and a lot more amps, they took their time, too. The others were still up on the second floor, he could hear their voices through an open window, Joe going on over something about one of Pete's patch cords and his distortion. 

Once again, Rick's pulse raced as his awareness narrowed to Steve's proximity, his body, the unique scent of his cologne and his hands on Rick's most valuable possessions. The closest thing he could compare the feeling to was stagefright. This time, he was going to ask if it killed him.

"Hey, Steve?" Before the guitarist could answer, Rick's mouth got away from him. "You know how you... and Sav, and Joe... um," his face was burning as he stumbled and tripped over the words, "I've sorta walked in on... seen... stuff..." Needing an excuse to look elsewhere, Rick retracted the legs of his floor tom and stashed it behind the back seat. 

Steve straightened up to his full six feet. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, which he inhaled on without using his hands, then exhaled smoke through his nose. Rick would have sworn he was part dragon. "What? What do you think you saw?" The cigarette bobbed as Steve spoke out of the side of his mouth. 

"Sex," Rick blurted. "I mean, sex... stuff." 

Snorting, Steve asked him, "Have you ever even had sex?" 

If Rick had been blushing before, he turned bright red now. Having a drunk girl in a miniskirt pull him, more or less, was one thing. This was somehow more illicit, and it appeared that the others thought he was still some virgin, which was a punch to his carefully-curated idea of manhood. "Yeah, of course...! Few times. With birds. That's not what I'm talking about." 

"And? What, if I tell you that you're not imagining things, you're gonna say we're fairies," Steve made a swishy gesture with one hand, which looked totally out of place on him, "and try to punch me?" 

"Would I have bothered to ask you if I was gonna do that?" Rick countered. He slipped the two cymbals of his hi-hat into their case. 

Steve broke a smile, then removed the cancer stick from his mouth. "I guess you have a point. What do you wanna know?" 

"Do you lot fuck?" Rick demanded. It came out in an emasculating squawk.

"Wow." Steve shifted his stance, ashing his cig on the ground. Thankfully, he ignored the cracking of Rick's voice. "Right to it, eh?" 

The drummer shrugged, then admitted, "I've seen... snogging. I think. Erm... touching. You three were... doing something, in the showers once. I left." He leaned against the van's open back door and folded his arms.

"So that was you." Steve smirked. "I wondered. Pete probably would have thrown a hissy fit right then and there." 

"Probably." Pete tended to speak his mind, or yell it when he was blitzed. Agreement and accord lasted one second. Two seconds, three... Rick could see Steve a hair's breadth from turning away. If he didn't say something, his chance would slip by again. "I want you," he blurted. He actually pointed at Steve, just to make sure he didn't construe 'you' as plural. 

"You..." Steve's eyebrows quirked far up under his dirt-blond fringe. "What?!" He laughed. "You're jailbait!" 

"Oh, shut up! I'm a bloke! That doesn't count." Was that an excuse? It sounded like so much bollocks. Rick had only heard of angry fathers of girls, usually ones who were up the duff, ever caring about statutory. 

"That's what you think. No one minds when it's a young bloke and older woman. But the reverse, or when someone's getting buggered..." 

"You do that?" Again, Rick meant 'you', singular.

Steve looked him square in the eye. For that, Rick felt a certain gratitude and respect. "Sometimes. None of us is queer you know. We hook up after shows, we have girlfriends... Just... sometimes the other feels right." 

Yes, Rick had met all their girlfriends. He wondered if any of those girls had a clue about the other goings-on, what the protocol was as to what to tell   or not tell   their ladies. He hadn't had an official girlfriend yet. "I don't get it... 'feels right'? Why would you want someone do that to you? Up the--" 

Steve glowered at him, tight-lipped, not so much that he was pissed off but more like Rick was being a pesky younger sibling, a look he was long familiar with, and spoke over him. "You said it yourself, you've been watching us. We noticed. You've never seen us doing _that_ though, 'ave yeh?" 

Rick opened his mouth. "No but--" 

"Uh!" The abrupt shushing noise almost made Rick rebel and take matters into his own hands. He didn't, couldn't endure another rejection. Steve went on quietly, "What you just said about two blokes? The opportunities are few and far between. Think about it. You're the only one not living at home. None of us are even allowed to have a girlfriend stay the night. On the road... out of town? No need. There's always pussy. So much pussy."

Rick cringed. He hated that word. Liked what it represented, anatomically, but not the childish, demeaning nature of its connotation.

Steve didn't seem to notice his reaction and kept talking. "Right? And if you don't know why anyone would do _that_ , don't you think you should find out the theory at least before you get messed up in something over your head?"

"That's why I'm asking you!" What was he supposed to do? Slink into the dark back corners of local sex shops to read up on the mechanics? Truth be told, he'd already done that. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Rick hissed urgently, "When I saw you and Sav in the van. In the dark. You..." 

"I did what?"

Unconsciously, Rick's fingers reached up and traced a line from his own neck down to his nipple, remembering the exact sequence and path of callouses over smooth skin, Steve's bitten-down nails as his fingertips moved, and the shifting of shadows across the hollow of Sav's throat, for the thousandth time. Then he blinked and lowered his hand. "I, uh... I got wood. Then, not right now!" 

"So? Lad your age... not unusual."

His little confession had nearly tapped out Rick's reserve for enduring self-inflicted humiliation. He hadn't expected to be questioned about his knowledge or motivation. Still determined, he shook his head, shrugged and gathered himself. "I wanna know. I wanna know with _you._ "

"No you don't. I would tear you up," Steve said slowly, shaking his head for emphasis. While not hot-tempered like Pete, Steve was his own brand of stubborn. In those two short sentences, he'd already dug in his heels. Rick's heart stopped in his chest. Started again, of course, but he noticed the missing beat and the cold sweat that had broken out on him. "You should let Sav do it. He'd be a lot more gentle with you." 

"Yeah but..." It was on the tip of Rick's tongue to say he didn't want gentle. Then again, he didn't know. The concept did scare him some. "Why? You can't... slow down...?" 

"When it comes to that, I only seem to have one speed. No offense, but I don't want your V-card. I'd make a mess of things and then you'd hate me." Steve, Rick noticed, had folded his arms across his chest now. The answer was final. 

"That's stupid. How could I hate you if you... gave me what I asked you for?" 

"Easily, if I hurt you." 

That, Rick supposed, was part of the reason why what he was proposing was such a taboo. The idea of getting hurt _there_. But didn't it hurt for girls, the first time? Everyone said so. That was one reason he hadn't tried dating 'nice' girls. What was the damned difference? Steve had first-hand knowledge, meaning so did... "Does Sav?"

"Does he what?"

"Hate you." Here, Rick was only guessing. The quick in-drawn breath told him he'd guessed right. 

"No, and I don't hate him, either." 

Rick grasped immediately what Steve had just told him. He pouted. Why did they get to be each other's first times but he had his choice in who did him basically tell him it was beneath him? In his life, he'd never forthrightly announced that he wanted to get it on with someone to their face before. One just didn't say things like that, other than maybe a whispered suggestion in the dark when the parties involved were almost there anyway. He felt let down, ashamed. Mainly, that Steve didn't want to jump his bones then and there. "That's not fair. I should get a say in who..." 

"You have plenty of time to think it over. No one's gonna go near you before you're legal." 

So they _had_ discussed it, out of his hearing. A tingling bolt of self-awareness, lust and apprehension shot through him. What did Steve mean by that, exactly? They thought he was worthy? At least one of them found him... hot? Which of them? Rick had never thought of himself that way. If he pulled, it was because he was the drummer. Some birds always went for the drummer the same as some did, the lead guitarist. Funny, he couldn't decide if he was creeped out or turned on over the idea of them nitpicking his attributes, speculating how he'd be in bed. 

Rick stood up straight and traced the distance between himself and Steve with his eyes. Once again, he was impressed by the fact that the response to his immature little outburst had not been a parental, 'life's not fair, is it?'. Technically, his bandmates were still teenagers, too, other than Joe who had reached the venerable age of 20. Those couple of years made a big difference. "You're near me," he baited. 

The look on Steve's face then, he'd been on the receiving end of similar such up-and-down, gauging, assessing, _measuring_ looks before, but they'd always made him feel like a man, not a little boy. All the fine hairs rose on the back of Rick's arms and neck, his legs, hell, his entire body. He'd been pushed up against enough walls   by smaller, softer bodies, not something like this long, lanky, skin-muscle-bones frame across from him now.

He looked away, hands shaking when he reached for his snare. The moment passed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Chapter 3:  
> *Note the rating change and add'l tags. E rating just in case.  
> *Cheerfully ignoring the fact DL had gigs the first 5 or 6 days of Nov '79 per their website.  
> *PWP alert: I can't write plot if it put me on a leash and dragged me. It's all about baby!Rick *cough* satisfying his curiosity.  
> *Thanks to whoever subscribed!

1979 - 2 November

Rick was pissed   off. No birthday sex for him. Okay, he was pissed, too   as in, inebriated. It had been a party. Booze, birds, loud music till all hours, but all the girls had left, which was strange. He went to bed, somewhere...? Must be someone's parents' room, who else would have a double. Whose house was this again? He crashed and had lurid dreams. 

It wasn't quite morning yet when Rick woke with a vile taste in his mouth and the realisation that someone was in bed with him. Behind him, holding him. Someone with wood. Not Steve. Felt wrong. Smelled wrong. It was Sav, and based on his breathing along with the heaviness of his arm draped over Rick's torso, he was deeply asleep. Wiggling away the crucial inches, Rick couldn't decide if the feel of another bloke against him was too weird to bear. Sure, Sav's body was familiar in a certain way women weren't, strong, but... 

Then, as his eyes adjusted, Rick startled hard in something like a myoclonic jerk as he realised someone else was there, sitting on a chair across the room. He raised his head an inch or two, squinting. Eyes glittering from shadow, bony knees, legs haphazardly crossed with one ankle hoisted up on one bouncing knee...

"Steve?" Rick hissed in the near-dark. Behind him, Sav mumbled and smacked his lips, pushing up against Rick's bum again. Rick could practically hear Steve's smug grin. 

"'Course it's me. So, birthday boy..." He didn't have to say more. Rick knew then what this was. If he wanted it. If he was ready for it. 

"Gotta piss!" He slid out of bed and ran to the door, looking out in confusion, left and right and left again. 

"Second door on your right. That's your wanking hand!" Another country heard from, Sav chuckled darkly from the depths of the blankets. 

"And don't hide in there all day like a scared virgin," Steve admonished. 

"Maybe he is..." As he searched out the loo, Rick could still hear them through the open bedroom door. 

"No, I don't think so. Said he's done it. Little bastard propositioned me months ago." 

"Oh!" Sav sounded genuinely surprised.

"Told you that."

"I was drunk." 

"Lightweight."

"Fuck you."

"Don't tempt me."

Rick didn't hear anything else over the thunder of his early morning piss. When he finished and went to wash his hands, he found a brand new toothbrush on the side of the sink. He used it. While he brushed, including his tongue, and spit, he wondered, mind full of hazy flashes of Sav's chest, Steve's hands, the pieces of their naked torsos and arms he'd been able to see between his toms at summer gigs along with their backsides in skin-tight trousers, what the next hour would entail.

Then, hands braced on the sink, he took a long look at himself in the mirror: Not-quite-shoulder-length bushy hair a total mess, gold-brown eyes squinty with sleep, shoulders jammed up to his ears. He didn't have huge shoulders nor a narrow waist and hips, but an overall sturdy build. In some lights, he thought, he resembled Sav a bit, same basic shape to their faces, snub noses, round eyes. Joe, who was the spitting image of his mother, had a stereotypical 'British' look, other than his dangerous narrow glare. Neither Steve nor Pete resembled anyone else, although they were polar opposites of each other. If he wasn't so skinny, Steve could be a Viking and Pete, hm, he didn't know. South Pacific? Such glossy-black hair was vaguely exotic in Yorkshire. Pixie? Elf? Oh, Pete would hate him for that! 

Steve's voice filtered into his awareness. "...think he'll bottle out?"

Sav laughed, that wasted teenaged boy bray. "Guess I'd be off the hook. Poor lad, he really wants you, huh?"

"Not sure why he'd single me out, I'm the last..."

"Oh, please... sexy..."

The sound of Steve's snort somehow conveyed he was embarrassed by the label. "Shut it, ya tosser! You're the one's absolutely filthy..."

"The truth is the truth. Talking about tossing."

"That's not all you do." 

By now, Rick was creeping back down the hallway. Scuffling noises and a soft 'oof' from Steve gave him a good clue of what they were up to. Rounding the door frame, he discovered he was right. A tangle of limbs in the bed and the pale expanse of Steve's long, limber back greeted him.

The first to notice him standing in the doorway staring, Sav shoved Steve away from himself. "You gonna just stand there?" he asked, voice throaty. It was the first time ever that a bloke had made any sort of... suggestion to him. The timbre of Sav's tone   his voice was lower than Rick's   for a man to inject sex into his words like that affected him as he'd never thought possible. Rick's guts roiled while his blood rushed south. Here Sav had just invited him to join their games, he was getting stiff in response, but... should he? These were his friends, his mates. Idealistic of him to think they'd be in a band together for life   would this bollocks it up? So far it hadn't, between the two partners in crime he'd just caught messing around before his eyes. Rick trusted them with his life. He'd been feeding off their brand of sly, undercover, catch-me-if-you-can activities for months. He wanted to know, he'd told Steve. Know how it went between blokes. This was it. 

A dirty-blond head swiveled around. "Look at 'im. 'e already is," smirked Steve, "standing."

Turning five shades of red, Rick cupped both hands in front of his crotch. He couldn't just let them lead him by the nose, though   he needed to prove he had some mettle, some stones. "You... are you gonna watch or summat?" he directed at Steve, doing his best to be casual. 

"If you don't mind it. Or, y'know, I can go." He and Sav exchanged looks. Meanwhile, Rick's mouth dropped open. He'd intended to remind the guitarist that as the odd man out, he should scuttle off. Because that was how it worked. Didn't it? In the next breath, Rick realised it didn't have to be like that, not with them. 

"Stay."

The two on the bed had some further unspoken words. 

"What?!" Rick spit out, half annoyed. He furtively tried to adjust himself. 

Sav looked up at him from under a dishevelled fringe. "Get your arse over here, then. Drop your kit." He sat up and tossed his own shirt over his head. "We never thought you'd actually go for it. Both of us being here." 

Rick wondered aloud, "Why not?"

"Your first time is your first three-way?" Sav asked. Out loud, it sounded a hundred times dirtier. 

"It is?" Why was he asking? He wanted Steve, who wouldn't without Sav to... what? Break him in? It still rankled a bit. But now Rick actually wanted to... experience... Sav as well. In the bed, waking up warm and snug, there'd been the briefest taste. "It's not my first " 

"Told you," Steve put in.

Sav glanced at Steve, then back at Rick. "Yeah it is. Or you're gonna think it is."

Oh good Christ. His erection threatened to erupt. As Rick limped across the space from doorway to bed, taking care to close and lock the door behind him first though he'd perceived no other human presence in the house, Steve asked him, "What have you done, when, and with whom?" 

"We don't need names unless they're, you know, notable," added Sav. 

"Um..." Really? They were going to make him tell? No doubt his track record was far shorter than these two, who had an average of three-and-a-half years on him, more time playing in a band   supposedly a British New Wave of Heavy Metal band   and... hell, they looked like rock stars, with hair past their shoulders, angular cheekbones and jawbones, their slinking, prowling postures. "Is that any of your business?" 

"It's tradition." 

This was what it must be like, standing before a throne of judgement, Rick thought, undoing his belt. "Fine, fine. First time snogging a bird for real, I was thirteen, she was sixteen. Another year before I got to feel one's jubblies." Appreciative 'hmm's for that. "I, er, didn't get a leg over till this summer, alright?" He was somewhat defensive about it, he had no idea why. Neither of them had given up any details.

"Younger than I was," Steve offered after a moment. "And for this bit, too." He slid off the bed, padded over and flopped in the chair. His jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped. Normally, the bloke was so gifted he had to tuck it down one leg. Nothing was tucked at the moment, Rick could see that. He blushed all over again. Having never actually seen Sav's bits, he found himself curious. And then, how would he himself compare? 

"What about you?" he threw at Sav, pushing the jeans and underwear he'd slept in down to his knees like the scrutiny didn't faze him in the least. 

"What?" The bassist had definitely been sizing him up. "Oh. Around the age you were, the first time." 

"Football club. He's famous, you know," Steve was obviously taking the piss. "So many birds, so little time." 

"It's not like that. Not at all," Sav protested earnestly. "If not for, well, the band, I'd probably have been with my girlfriend and only her my whole life." 

Rick raised his eyebrows, then sat down and kicked the denim away. "Oh yeah? Regrets?" He might as well glean what information he could while they were being candid. 

"I dunno. No. I... try not to think about it like that. A man does what he does... and lives with the consequences." 

Before he could ask for a more extensive explanation, another snort came from across the room. "And the penicillin. Speaking of... have you been playing safe, lad?"

"Um... sometimes...?" As in, when the girl was carrying a rubber and asked him to use it. 

Steve clicked his tongue. "You'd better hope there won't be any little Ricks running around. Doesn't burn when you piss or anything?"

"No!"

"Good, good," Sav put in. "Always use protection. Ask one of us if you need anything." 

"Right." Though he said it, Rick just could not imagine walking up to anyone, a girl in tow, probably interrupting them somewhere in the midst of the same type of activity he hoped to engage in, to steal prophylactics. 

"So... how many?" Steve asked him next. 

"Many?"

"How many different birds have you shagged?" 

"Oh." Rick quickly recalled them in his head, the ones that had let him go all the way. "Five. No, six." 

"Damn, son! You must be some fast talker." 

"No, it's... they think I'm cute or something." 

There was an awkward silence. "So... lay down," Sav told him, reclining under the covers. "We can snog for a while and stuff. That part's no different." 

Somehow, Rick doubted it. He was nervous enough it was hard to breathe, though he'd never admit it. Excited, too. Acutely aware of Steve, that he'd be watching whatever Rick did right or wrong, whether he made a complete idiot of himself or manned up. He felt naked. He _was_ naked. Sav held up the blanket for him to crawl under, and he did, avoiding any direct visual perusal and stopping short of touching but acutely aware that Sav had wiggled out of the rest of his clothes and was hard like Rick was, breathing fast, too. "Now, if you don't like something, speak up. No one's gonna try to make you do anything you don't want, got it? That's the last thing that'll ever happen with any of us." 

Their bodies came into contact. Sav dropped the blanket down and touched Rick's upper arm over the triceps, nothing more. Rick mirrored the touch, the placement on flesh that was warm, pliable, alive. He found he couldn't stop himself from letting his hand glide down to Sav's elbow, then up to his shoulder. "It's soft!" he breathed after a moment. 

"No it is not." Proof of sorts poked Rick's thigh, drawing a hiss of surprise from him. Then Sav comprehended what he'd really meant and backed off. "Uh... It's just my arm... like yours." 

Still marvelling, Rick curled his fingers into the packed round deltoid muscle, his thumb tracing the cut in front. "I was expecting it to feel different. I dunno... cooler, rougher." 

"You mean compared to a woman? There are some differences. We'll get to that." To demonstrate his point, Sav moved his fingers to Rick's face, where he brushed over the soft bristles above his upper lip and on his chin. Blinking, Rick parted his lips in a strangled gasp. His mind slapped at itself, the first of what was going to be many times that morning, his preconceptions of what blokes do and don't do, even with each other when they did this, so far from reality. The pad of Sav's index finger ran across the part of his lower lip where the visible outside met the wet part inside. Unable to stop himself, Rick sucked the appendage into his mouth, cheeks flaming red again at his baby reflex to latch on combined with the highly adult connotation. He looked into Sav's eyes, calm like summer rain, also excited and lit-up electric, but he already knew that, could feel it against his thigh again now as they inched closer under the covers. "Should we, um...?"

"Go ahead..." Somehow, Rick found the necessary fortitude to lean in a little. Sav spared him any awkward indignities and moved in the rest of the way, bringing his lips lightly down on Rick's, sweet and soft at first, then hungrily. Another bloke's tongue in his mouth, that was another of those internal adjustments. Rick closed his eyes and reciprocated, licking Sav's teeth, sliding their tongues together, tilting his head for a better angle. Their lower bodies were moving in a similar fashion; Rick slid one knee between Sav's purely out of instinct, meaning that one of Sav's hairy legs wedged between his thighs and how could he not have known how good friction would feel there, when Sav leaned on top of him a little and ground against his hip. 

He hissed again. Sav murmured a 'Sorry' and started to move away but Rick slid an arm around his back to prevent that. "No, it's ok. Just wasn't expecting... I dunno..." To prove he was serious, he kissed Sav this time. Maybe he got a bit messy with his tongue, saliva-flooded mouth seeking the perfect slide and suction as he let his hands wander. Sav's back muscles responded to his light massage, flexing and relaxing. His pecs were much the same as they appeared visually, hard, flat, the nipples tiny and pulled into tight little nubs. Rick wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch, so he brushed over them once, feeling a surge below, and put the flat of his hand on Sav's abdomen. 

By comparison, Rick felt like he was soft with puppy fat. Sav didn't seem to mind. His fingers skated everywhere, too. Always in motion, light touches up and down his belly so it almost tickled. A fingernail flicked one of his nipples. What!? All he could get out was another surprised blurt, which invited a repeat of the stinging snap. Again and again, Rick quietly marvelled how a bloke could make another feel so good, but it made sense. Every new area, Sav wordlessly checked before touching, his eyes flickered to Rick's and away again, as if the drummer would say no to his biceps being kneaded, or his own back and chest explored for the sake of it. He didn't. He felt so hot, not only because of the blanket. Lips and hot puffs of exhales against the side of his neck, teeth nipped his earlobe, none of that so different, except Rick needed to do all those things to Sav, too, and he did, his tongue taking the lead over the various cords and hollows of his mate's neck, without fear of being told to stop. There was no stop, only more. His whole body tingled, alive with gooseflesh, tight with rushing blood. 

"You're tough. I like that," Sav murmured, running his hands slowly downward, one around Rick's waist. It was like the nerves just under his skin followed the path of those confident fingers over his flank, hip, the top of his arse. "You get a workout every practice." 

That was true in more than one sense. It was a lot of memorisation. "It's not an easy job. I practice a lot on my own, too." Sav's other hand, well, his index finger, ran a circle around Rick's navel, then down with agonising slowness toward his groin. Impatient, Rick shoved Sav's hand lower, pleased that there was no resistance and in fact, a happy noise. He made one, too, eyes closed for maximum sensation of a foreign hand on him.

"Well, well... look at this," Sav drawled. "Should I be jealous?" 

When Rick looked down, he saw as well as felt how they were lined up together. After the initial shock of his prick being in contact with another man's unit, he smirked, too. Sav was thicker and, well, prettier if there was such a thing when it came to dicks. His balls were heavier but surprise! Rick had a good half an inch on him, as well as a more pronounced mushroom shape. "Nah. You, er, it's more... well, birds like girth, I heard." 

"That they do," Sav grinned. His fingers stretched to circle around both of them, couldn't reach all the way. "C'mon, Rick, your hand, too." 

Hesitantly, Rick reached down between them. Touching himself first was safer, but to complete the circle he had to touch Sav, too. It didn't bite him, didn't go off, again it was just skin, not much different than his   hot, pulsing and stretched. He had little time to consider when Sav's fist began to move up and down and his with it. Oh hell! He was leaking, was Sav going to make fun of... no! He wouldn't because there was human male slick from him, too. A lot of it. So good, foreskins sliding together as they pumped and flexed. Less than thirty seconds of another man's hand on him and Rick was sweating, whining and about to blow his load. 

"Not yet!" Sav murmured. 

"Nnngh...! Why the hell not?" 

"You may be a young pup but an elder statesman such as myself will need more time to recover." How Sav was talking in full sentences was beyond Rick, who rolled his eyes at him. "Wait for it."

Pressed together, each with one hand between them and the other holding on to the other man, their movements intensified. Sav flexed his hips, a thrust in no uncertain terms; Rick gasped again, loud, harsh. Till now, he'd gone along and followed the pace Sav set, satisfying curiosity. Their erections sliding together between them in faster passes brought another deluge of lust and heat, his own need to thrust and explode. The pounding of blood swelled him till he felt as thick as Sav, as long as Steve, more, bigger. A sweet ache suffused his balls, as intense and full a feeling as the first few times he'd shot for real. Behind them, he felt swollen, too, like the root of his cock was throbbing in the vicinity of his arsehole and damn if it didn't need attention. Rick had never experienced being turned on from the perspective of wanting someone to enter his body, and he still didn't know if he could let himself. Sav could do that to him; obviously he wanted to. Most of all, Rick wanted to experience his bandmates' pleasure, all the way, whichever or both of them. Well, and his own, too. Since they'd been doing it with each other, it had to feel good. 

"Rick, I'm gonna..." Sav's voice seemed to have dropped into his chest. This was it, they were rubbing off on each other, officially. Emboldened by the bassist's no- nonsense approach, Rick grabbed onto Sav's arse cheek and ground against him. Imagine his surprise at finding himself pushed onto his back, Sav crawling on top of him, then being humped like they were dogs. Hands slid out of the way till it was just his erection jammed against Sav's between them now, two healthy young cocks providing overwhelming sensation. This was nothing like being with a girl. He could feel pubic hair scratching, the other person taller than him, shaped like him more or less, balls against his balls, an aggressiveness he'd never guessed. He supposed Sav wasn't like this with girls, either, and he liked that idea, that he had something different to offer. 

How, why, it didn't matter as he spread his thighs and tilted his pelvis up to feel Sav closer and tighter against him. The next time, Rick knew, he would let his bandmate do it to him, for real. The shifting of blankets provided him a whiff of sweat and musk. Mouth watering, he strained to lick and then suck the side of Sav's neck under his mass of dark, curly hair, more endorphins dumping into his system when the bruises he was leaving returned moans and faster, harder humping. Sav's sex rhythm sped against his; they ground and squirmed as the backbeat brought him off fast. He could hear his own vocalisations, choked little grunts with every grind. So boys can make noise he learned, having never allowed it of himself before. 

Shaking with the intensity, Rick slammed into his culmination and let it go between their sweaty bellies. He had no choice, no control, it was too raw. Above him, Sav made a sort of moan-growl-gasp noise he'd never heard the like of: triumph, release, _orgasm_ , and added to the sticky-silky semen smear. 

"Sometimes he's loud," Steve said from across the room. Rick jumped   he had entirely forgotten his existence. As he turned his head in the strengthening light, his eyes caught the wad of tissues bunched in Steve's loose fist, how he slouched in that chair with his legs spread wide and his jeans still open. It hit Rick like a sledgehammer, when he realised what Steve had done. 

"Did you like that?" he asked across the room a bit belatedly, even as Sav, snickering either at Rick's double-take or in the post-sex haze, rolled off him and picked up his discarded shirt to wipe the spunk off himself, then off Rick. 

"What do you think?" It could have come out sarcastic and arrogant, but instead Steve spoke softly and ducked his head. It only made Rick want him more. 

Sav laughed out loud. "If he hadn't, one of us would have had to go suck him off now and that's an acquired taste." 

Whipping his head to the side, Rick raised his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"Ever taste it? You know...." 

Was this another of their confession-seeking questions? "Well..." Rick looked away. "Mine. I was curious," he added defensively, returning his stare to Sav, daring him to make fun. 

"It's not like pussy, that's for sure," Sav opined. He grinned at Rick, sneaking another sideways glance at Steve. 

On that subject, Rick had nothing to say. He still didn't like the word but in this context it wasn't quite as obnoxious. Of course the two tastes weren't the same... hypothetically. 

"Oh, you haven't...? I see," Sav nodded his understanding. "Well, that's a bit advanced for a young lad like you." 

"Sod off!" Rick reached over and cuffed him on the shoulder. "It would take someone... special." 

"So not him?" Sav asked pointedly, staring into Rick's eyes. It was hypnotic. 

"I didn't say that... so, have you, then?" Rick struggled with the correct terminology. "Sucked him off?"

"Mm-hm. There's a method. You gotta learn to open your throat. But I mean, that's for anyone." 

No doubt. The open throat being used on him, that thought had him twitching. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Of course." Dumping the shirt over the side of the bed, Sav rolled on his side, one arm pillowing his head. He had a bit of a tan lingering from summer, upper body two shades darker. 

Rick took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Who... which of you, meaning you two and Joe, started things?" 

Unexpectedly, for the man, while quiet among strangers, was a blabbermouth with mates, Sav flushed and stammered, "I-I... um..." 

"He was the baby till you came along," Steve jumped in. "And he switched from guitar to bass right before they hired me." Rick nodded. He'd heard that story a few times already. "So he felt like the low man out, thought someone other than him ought to start it. Me, figured I'd get kicked in the nuts. Between me and him, I dunno who made the first move. All it took was an empty room, a bottle of vodka, and in his case, three days without a wank." 

"Not my fault, had to go to a cousin's wedding and share a room with my parents." Rick groaned in sympathy. "The second we got back, band practice. He, uh..." the fondness of the memory and of the man it involved was evident, tugging at the ounce of sentimentality a 16-year-old boy might possess, "he got me drunk, next thing we're snogging against his Marshall stack, I dunno. We, er, waited till I wasn't puking and the hang-over was gone to do anything else." 

"So like, five days... he was on the rag or summat." 

Sav gave an indignant cough. "It was two days and you know it. ...show you 'on the rag'..." he snagged his sticky, stained shirt from the floor and flung it at Steve, who batted it away.

"No you're not, you're gonna show our baby drummer here how to fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. It had to be right. Also I feel more than a little weird writing Steve in a sexual situation. You'll note that hasn't stopped me.

Steve's proclamation changed the air, loaded it with new anticipation. Discussing this and that, it had been relaxed and easy, Rick resting on his back, head on the pillow with one knee bent and raised. His guts - and his nuts - lurched a little. 

The two musicians on the bed looked each other up and down. Curls falling in his face when he turned his head, Rick shook them back. Sav hadn't moved from his side but his entire body went on alert, muscles tensed, erection rapidly filling and rising even as Rick beaded on it. Same for him, blood and chemical pipeline overflow. Yes, they'd be fully ready again any second. Neither bothered to try to hide it. Why would they?

In that moment, Rick wondered if it had been Steve's word that made Sav hard, or if the prospect of taking what little remained of his innocence had done it. Well, he should talk. This was a means to an end for him, he had thought. Now he wasn't so sure. When Sav crawled over him, animal warmth permeating into the pores of Rick's skin, he postponed any higher brain function. 

"Ready for this?" The rhetorical murmur paralleled earlier feelings that belonged to the murky past now: when Rick hadn't been ready, and then when he had. 

"Yeah," was the only possible answer, and he pulled Sav down on himself. 

Before, at first, their snogging had been experimental, just like all the new things Rick had learned by doing. Since he knew it was allowed, that it wasn't off-limits for these blokes, he chased the dragon of oral fixation. Lips on lips, some kind of inborn unchoreographed dance. That first taste, though he knew it now. Then more. No need to be stealthy, but he liked it that way, hiding one second, flailing against the satin-lined ridged palate the next. Flat on his back with his tongue deep in Sav's mouth, Rick used both hands to clutch and knead at his bum, grinding upward. Things slowed down, and the impact intensified. With pupils dilated almost painfully wide, he could make out every pore in Sav's skin, the glisten of new sweat, every hair within visual reach. His heart pounded like his own kick drum inside his chest cavity. That need to move together as one took over. 

For a little while, it was enough to lie there and writhe, to flow serpentine through his spine and rub his groin against Sav's. Lick, moan, a wicked thrust and needy arch, there was no way to get any closer without someone being inside the other. Rick's body knew it wanted that. His legs had spread apart with his feet planted on the mattress, Sav riding the rhythm of their heat in the cradle of his pelvis. 

"Can we...? I don't..." 

He'd had no trouble figuring out what to do with himself when there was a woman involved, and also those birds had been quite helpful, he supposed, with guiding him and such. Their bodies were made for him, it seemed like, the slick, neat tunnel and their boobs to play with or suck on, different shapes and sizes and he found out, not all women felt alike inside either, some softer, some... gripped, almost. In any case, he wasn't equipped with one of those. What he had... one of Sav's hands was between his thighs now, down below his balls, pressing, tickling. Rick gasped when a deliberate finger touched him... there. Where he'd go in. 'Oh god, oh my god, that's my--' 

Nerve receptors he never knew existed screamed and twitched. The reflex to clench kicked in before any conscious choice. Rick tried to make sense of whether he - his arsehole - was trying to keep Sav out or draw him in. Undeterred, Sav kept at it. What the hell, was he... petting it? No, the tip of that finger went around, then around again, then into the middle. 

"Gonna need lube. Roll over now, Rick," Sav rasped urgently. "Get on your knees... gonna do it to you..." 

Across the room Steve hissed and issued a stream of profanity. "Sav, go easy on 'im!"

"Not to worry. I'll see he gets thoroughly prepped." Sav had been in his position   literally   about a year and a half before and he remembered; the other two could hear it in his intonation, although Rick was panting a combination of need and nerves. "It's gonna hurt," Sav said bluntly, "at first. But I'll do my best to get you past that quick and then it's..." another of his growly-groaning noises conveyed porn-level goodness. 

So yes, he let himself be flipped over and went arse up, having an out-of-body experience. Rick would have sworn he floated somewhere up near the ceiling, looking down at his not-so-tall self on hands and knees, wheat-and-honey hair haphazardly parted up the back of his head as it hung down, totally unsure of how to handle himself. Then Sav, nudging his knees wide and tucking his longer, lithe body between and behind, went to work. 

Rick's mind fritzed to static. He could hear the other two murmuring back and forth, white noise. Could smell sweat and spunk and whatever the slippery stuff that had appeared from nowhere was. There was an odd taste, iron and salt, in the back of his throat... was it the unconscious manifestation of his impending invasion? 

He certainly had not been separated from bodily sensation. Fingers all over his bum. He'd have said warming him up, but he was already more than hot, more when he learned just how receptive his arse was to the teasing touch. No one spanked him, he'd been half-expecting a playful smack which never came. Instead, the touches grew more concentrated, centred. Then, pushing into him slick, cool and wet but not oily as he'd been led to believe. 

It took forever. It was too fast. It was fucking weird, being pried open, spread, fingers moving around in there. Any hurt was the outside muscle not wanting to give. Somehow, Sav pulled and stroked it into submission, murmured again and again about breathe, let me in, just a bit more and another bit more. "Such a nice arse, Rick... d'you even know?" 

"'s true," Steve's disembodied voice agreed. 

"Can't see me own." Snorting laughter, Rick groaned again as the slight movement caused him to tighten. 

"S'pose not. Take my word for it." A palm caressed his cheek a couple of times. Unlike when females grabbed his arse, the light hand raised a tingling similar to gooseflesh, localised. 

No intelligent reply came to mind. "Uh, okay." Then he blurted, "I like your arms. And Steve's back. And his, uh..." Oh shite, was he really saying this? "His arse, well, both of yeh, and your lips, Sav." 

"Well, you got nice..." Sav sniggered, and he reached down to give Rick's sac a gentle squeeze. 

A low groan punched out of Rick. He hadn't been expecting that, but managed, "We Northern lads... well made." 

"Wait till you meet the Python." 

"Unngh! No." For one thing, he didn't believe it. For another, he didn't want the distraction. Some day, some time, Rick wanted this man on him right now to touch him like that... everywhere, toes to scalp, naughty bits and commonly-seen but rarely-visited parts like his wrists or shins alike. There was no one else he'd ask for that, not even Steve. 

"Did you ever try with your own fingers?" asked Sav, moving his apart. He wasn't referring to the full body experience.

"No, never." Other than the two in the room with him, Rick had never contemplated 'real' people, mates he knew well, doing this sort of thing. Nor himself, either.

"Mind what I'm doing, then."

With each additional finger, surprise and alarm gurgled in Rick's throat before he could dampen them. More than once, Sav asked if he should stop. Damn right he should! Rick wanted it to end, he wasn't ready only no, Sav would prod that spot inside again and he wanted more, wider, deeper. His words when he could form them were all to the effect of "don't stop, please, I need this so bad, Sav." His head had lowered onto his folded hands; he was pushing back now, chasing the invasion, and he couldn't remember having moved. 

Above him, Sav blew out a quick huff. "Steve... my fingers are all slippery. Put a rubber on me." 

"Wipe them off, dummy!" 

"Stee-ee-eve..." 

The guitarist was fully naked as he came into Rick's line of sight. When had that happened, Rick wondered. He couldn't stop staring. Steve was skin and bones, and bone. Jesus! Bad enough that what Sav was packing was about like his wrist at the base, how in fuck had the bassist's poor backside lived to tell? 

Steve did what he was asked, which Rick witnessed as he craned his neck to look back. Everything he'd seen between them up till then had been accidental. Just like in the dark that one night, their moves were deliberate, as sensual as utilitarian, 'experienced' was the word he'd have used, now done for his benefit. Rick was sure he'd just seen Sav's dick jump when Steve gloved him. After a tense half-second pause, the guitarist grabbed Sav's arse in one hand, his face in the other, and the two of them fell into a moment of passionate snogging. Steve's lashes were down but Sav's eyes pointed at Rick. Finally they pulled apart. 

The attention he'd lacked returned to him, specifically to his arse. Something heavy tapped his butt, a hand held him in place as the blunt, rounded head of it slid down, down his crack to where he'd just been stretched. 

"Uuuuunnnggh!" Rick groaned loud, so loud, as Sav delved into him. His prepped entrance tried to slam shut, the burn increasing every time he resisted. It was give up, or give in. He refused to call a stop. That slick stuff allowed Sav to slide fully into Rick. He was too full, he couldn't take it, he'd burst, he'd rip, he'd... 

What the fuck?! "Do that again!" Disco balls and rainbows turned to fireworks behind his eyes and somewhere inside him. So all the hype was true!? It felt ten times better than with fingers when Sav rubbed over that thing inside him with his dick. 

Again, again, again. Human, not a machine, Sav set a rhythm and varied only to accelerate. Every thrust into him, Rick re-adjusted his posture trying to keep pressure on the perfect spot. Hands gripped his hips, holding him in place, and he glanced back again to see a fuzzy shadow of only Sav. 

"I will, I got you..." Sav murmured. Bending down over Rick's back, his belly curved around the back of the drummer's bum and lower torso on that side of him. The contact, almost surrounding him, between Sav's arms on either side of him and the friction of all that skin, was even more claustrophobic than having another bloke on top of him when they were facing. 

Claustrophobic, and intimate. Safe and secure. The motion of Sav's hips hadn't lessened, and it too, all the pushing, pulling back within and all around him added to the knowledge that he was being taken for the first time made him so damned needy. For more skin contact everywhere; for deeper, faster thrusts into him to rut against his pleasure gland. In their musical lives, he drove the band but here and now, he wanted to be driven, ridden till his quivering coalesced and shot forth. 

As he was made - but yet, voluntarily - to be fucked and wrecked, but such a good, good, the ultimate good way, Rick projected: he wanted to be able to make some other person feel like this. Like they were taken care of. He did his part under Sav, of course he did, partially because the further he spread his legs, the more he could rub his dick against the sheet. Close to Rick's ear, Sav was making little "hnng, hnng" noises of effort. Each breath ruffled his hair, started hot and ended cooling his sweaty skin. Something in him cracked open, not physically. Rick blew out through his mouth like a laboring mother. His hips wanted to thrust, too. Into something, someone. Then Sav shifted angle again, sweet fierceness who grabbed him tight around the middle and lunged into him over and over. 

Rick's thoughts ran wild, unending on the theme of being in the other role. Was it in him? Was he... enough? He tried to imagine a woman, one of those he'd had or his idealised version, but instead was presented with the impression of a bloke on his elbows and knees looking back at him, with the corresponding long spine, muscled shoulders, thighs that were anything but creamy, balls hanging between them. And long blond hair. 

Shite, had he turned all the way?! There was bent, and there was straight. Steve had insisted they weren't... gay was the term people used lately. If letting another bloke bone you in the arse and liking it wasn't gay, what was? He was still attracted to birds, though. Wasn't planning to give that up. None of the rest had any aversion, to say the least! What sort of rock star didn't like women?! He'd heard the expression 'swings both ways' and Rick had been a bit smug, in his own head, that he could indeed swing both ways, too, if he wanted to, and it was no one's business but his and... No, he could absolutely not imagine any bloke touching him but these two. 

"He's thinking too much," Steve said from somewhere. 

"Give him something to do, then." 

Rick's eyes widened as Steve reappeared again, sat next to the headboard and inched sideways in his direction. "I want..." he gasped. He crawled, forcing Sav to follow. Straining to reach, he opened his mouth. Saliva spurted from the glands inside his jaw so violently it stung and he slurped back his drool, earning him widened eyes. He pulled hard on Steve's knee to get it out of his way. 

"Oi! Teeth, Rick..." Okay, so he immediately gagged. It would take practice, and Sav banging him into unsteadiness wasn't helping. Instead, he licked. Sugar-sweet exploded on his taste buds. Across the satiny crown; under the ridge, which made Steve whine unexpectedly; up and down each curved side. 

"Talk about getting me knob slobbered...!" 

Rick snorted, then his head came up just in time. Jostling him even more, panting hoarsely, Sav adjusted and stroked across that thing inside him that had him so rock hard, he could feel the pressure in the root, the rest of his length dragged down with trapped blood. Fingers touched his dick. Steve's fingers, his fret hand. Callouses stroked him, a firm grip in long roughened digits. Rick bucked and thrust, coating Steve's hand in pre-come and humping it, till it was all his movements this time, his efforts, impaled on steel, too much. He could only squeak frantically but somehow Sav knew. 

"He's gonna blow...!" 

"Get him up so I can..." For a minute, Sav leaned so heavy on him, Rick thought he couldn't hold them both. Then strong arms hooked under Rick's from behind and yanked him upright. The surprise kept him from going off just yet. Steve held his eyes and descended on him, not to play around and lick but to take him in. Holy fuck, he could only imagine how Steve had learned that. He'd not included it when they'd questioned his history, but Rick had had his dick sucked a few times, too. Not like this! Not with suction powerful enough to bruise and a wet, flailing tongue finding every crevice.

His head was spinning, and despite trying to wait, the tightening in his balls said he had limited time. Rick was jolted by a few more frantic thrusts up into him. At last Sav yelled in unmistakable satisfaction and released heat deep inside him. 

Fingers alit on Rick again. No one had ever messed with his jewels before other than one girl who had grabbed him there to start things off. The moment Steve disengaged for a breath, they tightened painfully hard and sucked up as Rick unloaded, again without warning. Jizz sprayed everywhere, it seemed, hitting Steve mainly in the chest while Rick moaned, both horrified and so incredibly aroused by what he was doing. At the end, the grinning guitarist scooped up a bit on his finger and tasted, lips pursed, eyebrows lifted slightly. He nodded. Rick shot him one more time, more of a dribble, but that was all he had left and it fucking hurt how empty and raw he was everywhere between his legs. 

Steve hadn't come. Though it looked excruciating and purple, he didn't touch himself. Rick stretched in that direction with Sav still in him, so sluggish, like dead weight fallen on his back. "Pull out, Sav," Rick groaned. 

"You're not gonna want me to do that quickly."

Yeah, they knew better and all, and Rick was suddenly mortified of what would happen when _that_ wasn't holding him open anymore. Best it go gradually. But... 

"Just blow me," Steve requested, "I'd like that. Unless you wanna fuck me." 

Rick gasped so loud the neighbours probably heard it but he'd just nutted   twice   and 16 or not he might need a few minutes to recover. He could already tell a difference from a couple of years ago. Strange. His legs were shaking. 

"Next time, eh?" Rick wheezed. His next deep breath of air   rich with pheromones and semen   through an open mouth said he wasn't done learning things, not by a long shot. He wrestled Steve onto his back, crawled between his legs and inexpertly went to work. 

With glee, with pride, Rick accepted direction on how to guard his teeth and where to flick and hook his tongue. He used his lips and hands to stroke up and down, and though he tried, his throat wouldn't accept the invasion for more than a second. Tears of effort ran from his eyes, his nose was running, but he didn't care, he just needed to do it right, or right enough. 

Whenever he pulled back while he sucked, Steve would groan and feed him more. Funny, being on the receiving end, he'd never considered the aspects of taste and smell, all musk and dark, or how a man's balls might get in the way of his chin as they pulled up in readiness. What mattered more to him were the fingers petting his hair, horny noises of approval at what he was doing. 

By the end, he was gagging again, because Steve was as vigorous as he'd suggested. Rick, in self-preservation, pinned down those thin thighs and leaned hard, holding himself still other than lick, suck, lick as he anticipated the flood. This was as close and personal as it got. Steve let loose a purring sort of moan; his dick pulsed wildly in Rick's mouth. No, he couldn't quite hold all he was given, some ran down from the side of his lips. Wide-eyed, Rick savoured the mouthful of warm, bitter, whiskey-laced come. Honestly, he decided, it was kind of gross. He managed to swallow reflexively rather than spit, which got him murmured praise from both other parties. 

He hadn't even noticed Sav slip out, but looked over to see him laying still and barely conscious, watching them from under hooded lids. He nodded; Rick returned it. 'Thank you'. Then he said his own thank you to Steve: quickly, before he got told to sod off, he kissed the guitarist's thigh high up then sucked a livid bruise into it. 

"Ow! You little cunt! And here we were so careful not to leave marks." But Steve was laughing softly. "C'mere." 

As Rick stretched out very carefully between them, a clean sheet drifted down over them, then a blanket. He wasn't sure it'd be necessary. Stream was practically rising from his body. The last internal frisson came when Steve guided them together for a kiss, regardless of what still lingered on Rick's taste buds. It was light, didn't last long. Steve didn't seem like the type to play around, after. Of his indulgence, Rick was grateful. 

"Y'alright, kid? You did good. So..." Steve's tone was leading. "You wanna go again, then?" 

He was alright, and he couldn't wait - but he had to - till he could get it up again. "Aye. Just need... to lay here for a while. A bit of sleep." That usually did the trick. 

"You understand now, right?" Steve snaked his arms around Rick's body and held him, possibly even more unexpected. "Why I let Sav "

Staring at the ceiling, Rick interrupted him, "No. No, I still don't. And he wasn't that... gentle." If Steve ever had the occasion to offer Sav's services again, he should know the facts. 

"You don't know, but at the beginning at least, he was. Guess he saw you could take it." Steve's lashes drifted down. About to protest, Rick heard the rest, but didn't agree. "Told you why, before." 

"Cop out. Something happened, with him or I dunno." Rick paused. It was getting too serious. "Never mind."

"Joe doesn't bottom. Thanks to me." 

"Oh. 'Bottom.' That's what it's called?"

"Yeah, and Sav topped you today." Half of Steve's mouth turned upwards. "I've never watched before. Just watched. Liked it."

"Yeah, I saw the tissue, after. Can't believe you did that." 

"What, wanked over live porn? Come on!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is just sex (Rick/Steve), with some BS-ing before and after. Not your thing, don't read.
> 
> This chapter [alone] is unbeta'd.

Rick dozed off after that. Slept one, maybe two REM cycles. Upon waking, he perceived two other presences beside him. Scents, breathing patterns, the electrical frequencies of their bodies and now that there was enough ambient light to see in detail, two sets of messy hair and partially covered limbs imprinted short-term and long-term. When he stretched, his hands touched an unfamiliar headboard. His heels hung off the end of the bed. The arch and tremble at the apex of his yawn served to remind him to not make any sudden moves. 

Beside him, Sav was stirring; he sat up, rubbed his eyes and stretched, too. Lying still, Rick studied what he could see from his perspective of the shifts of skin over muscle and bone, the not-quite-even line of Sav's upper teeth when he yawned, the dark tuft of hair in his armpit and the little folds of his belly as he leaned forward, after. 

Did he feel any different about his bandmates now, Rick asked himself. Was he supposed to? He hadn't the slightest. Asking... no, he shied away from that. 

"'Morning," Rick mumbled. He looked away before Sav caught him staring. His gaze flicked over to Steve, whose eyes were half-open. The colour washed out of them in shadow. Again Rick had to glance away; his pulse rate picked up. 

"'Morning... gotta take a slash," replied Sav and ambled off stark naked, scratching his stomach. So much for not looking. A strange, semi-covetous new thing, seeing him that way, stole into Rick's being. Not ownership. The two of them were near transcendent, in Rick's eyes. Steve's sharp boniness translated into a spare command, and yes, hunger. Sav was sleek, with taut curves, not like a woman at all but born of training and usage. And he'd seen them. Had them. Every naked inch of them. From nowhere, inside his head, music and lyrics swelled: _way, way, way down inside... gonna give you my love... every inch of my..._

Rick pushed the reaction aside. Not so long ago he'd been telling himself he shouldn't be lusting over his - male - bandmates while getting hard watching them play touchie-feelie. Emotional attachments seemed even more dangerous. By now, though, he could see the affection between the other two clear as day. 

"So..." Steve turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His shoulders and bare arms showed, the rest of him covered by the blanket he'd pulled up. "How are you feeling?" he wanted to know. His face was inches from Rick's, his irises jumping side to side just slightly as he bored into the drummer's eyes, searching for truth, lies, or secrets. A slight dip in the mattress nudged them together. 

Wiggling in self-assessment, Rick tried to sum up what his body was telling him. "I dunno... alright, I guess. Arse isn't as sore as I thought it would be," he snorted. 

"See? Told you Sav would do it better." 

That again. "Better? I've no basis of comparison." Rick held the blue-grey gaze. Unusual; Steve avoided meeting anyone's eyes for long, he'd noticed. "Wanna have a go, then?" He tried to play it off again, play it casual, like it was no big deal to him. It was a hell of a big deal, offering himself when he hadn't had time to fully recuperate yet. Who knew when he'd get another chance. 

Smiling a little, Steve brought his hand up to Rick's face, who rooted into the slightly sweaty palm cheek-first. "Oi, kid. Ta. I would love to, but no. You need to give it a rest." He raised an eyebrow for a quick second and grinned. "Like I said earlier, if you want me, we can do it the other way." 

"'If I want you?' You're fucking with me!" blurted Rick. 

"Not yet." A crease or two appeared across Steve's forehead. "Do you?"

Although he'd heard and responded to the offer before their little nap, Rick hadn't been so sure it was genuine. And he'd been knackered then, his perception could've been off. "You... you'd really let me?" he asked. Blood rushed south. He wanted to kiss Steve again, and not just that. Everything. Rolling onto his side, Rick snaked his arm around Steve's back and pulled him against himself. His mind and body acclimated to the feel of this unique individual in a split second, just as it had done before. 

"Yeah." 

"Not Sav?" As in, preferably. Rick didn't want some sort of pity fuck. 

However, Steve either missed or deliberately ignored his meaning. "Of course Sav but not at the same exact time. Ouch." They both had a bit of a giggle over that.

"Right. Speaking of that, I was wondering," dry-swallowing, Rick pressed on, in the name of knowledge, "if you share... birds? Women? Like, after shows?" 

Steve's eyebrows both shot up. He paused for a half-second, as if filtering through memories. "You say the damnedest things. No. No, we haven't. Us, this, that's one thing. It's not like that, Rick. You're one of us. Shite, do I really need to spell it out? The ladies, they want a bloke to themselves. And, um... it's safer that way. If we're not in the same room with each other." He didn't need to elaborate. 

Rick did, though. "I suppose so. Then you're not tempted to do something with each other that she, any fan or groupie, could spread rumours about. Right?" 

"You're ambitious: 'fan'." Rick only nodded, and waited. "Mm-hm. Well, we've all heard of freaky shit, but so far, that's all been quite... normal." Steve sounded as if he didn't expect this to be the case forever. 

When he thought about it, Rick wondered, too. Once, a bird he'd received a post-gig blow job from in the stall of a loo had asked if he could convince a second, even a third band member to go home with her   no, them   later. At the time, he'd been too shocked to ask questions. He'd only said no, that they didn't do that stuff, to her proposition. Some day soon he'd bring that up, but for now, he still seemed to be missing something. "Sav said 'threesome' earlier. He did."

"Mm-hm. Two girls, that's everyone's fantasy." 

"Is it?" he whispered, not satisfied with the answer. "I rather liked the one we did." Breathing ragged, Rick surged across the distance between them and claimed Steve's lips, which he could feel curving into a smile.

"Mmph!" Slipping his tongue into Rick's mouth, Steve could have been agreeing or protesting, and it didn't matter. 

Stubble scratched him, either new or he hadn't noticed it earlier. He'd surreptitiously studied how Steve's lips were thinner and a different colour and shape than Sav's. He kissed differently, too, like he was barely holding himself in check. Rick met him lick for lick. Receiving unspoken permission when he leaned in more, shifting his weight, he climbed on top. 

It felt different to have a bloke under him. Mentally, mainly. He still had the sense that he needed to prove himself. For another thing, morning wood, not just his. Cooler, larger hands landed on his sides with the fingertips around his back. They slid down, down, to cup his bum, no, to grab the meat of it, squeezing and kneading. Like he'd found out with Sav, the skin there was incredibly reactive. Every nerve ending screamed over the dual sensation of rasp-rough on his right, four-point fingertip touches on his left. 

Instinct kicked in; Rick canted his hips, found a rhythm. His tongue prodded its way between Steve's teeth and his knee between Steve's legs, which opened for him without resistance. For the first time since this began, he felt like he was in charge. He had to keep his eyes open, had to watch. 

What he saw, heat in the slate-coloured eyes looking up at him, was challenge. Curiosity, too, like, 'What are you gonna do with me, little man?' Rick groaned; he wanted bunches of things! All at once! He pulled his mouth away, dragging his open lips to Steve's left earlobe. The body under his shuddered hard. Based on the moan released close to his ear, the trembles that shook them both when he licked around and into the canal were from pleasure. Suddenly, Steve's hard little nipples, one of which was poking his chest, came to mind and Rick wiggled down to cover it, kissing, then sucking. Steve nearly bucked him off but at the same time, he grabbed on to Rick even harder and thrust up against him like they were already fucking. 

At that moment, Sav reappeared. He sat on the far corner of bed, making it clear that he intended to watch if not participate. By now, Rick took that for granted. "You discovered his hot buttons, huh?" the bassist queried. 

"Mm-hm!" Switching to the other side, Rick was trying to divine the flavour. Different than chicks'. Different than regular skin. Not like Steve's dick either. Whatever, it was buttery and tangy at the same time. One then the other of Steve's legs came up around him, trapping him while the guitarist rubbed up on him, juices beginning to smear his torso. He lapped and lapped, back to the first tiny pink tip when he'd cleared the taste away. Unlike himself and Sav, Steve had a few hairs growing in the middle of his sternum. Fascinated, Rick examined and then licked them, too.

"Rick... stop!" Steve hissed. 

"Did I do something wrong?" Lifting his head, Rick tried not to be alarmed.

"Hell, no! Want you now. You ready for that?"

"Yesssss...!" Rick moved down a little more. He could do this, he could. His heart was pounding like a double kick drum. It had taken very little effort on his part to make Steve demand his sex, and damn, but Rick was going to give it to him. He reached down and took himself in hand... fuck, he was about to breach Steve's body. 

Not quite. Someone cleared their throat. "You gonna get me ready? Can't go in dry, Rick." 

"Um..." Rick gulped. How had he forgotten about that? It was his responsibility now, wasn't it? 

"Sav. He needs lube. Help him out, huh?" 

"Yes." The familiar presence crawled closer. "Get your knees under him a bit more," instructed Sav. "Here..." He had opened the bottle of slick. Rick repositioned himself and made to take the bottle, but Sav didn't let him, instead starting upend it. "Hold out your hand. There. Now open him up. Start with one finger like I did." 

Oh, god. Quailing about it at first, Rick bit his lip nearly bloody. All three of them were panting open-mouthed, audibly. His heart lurched in his chest when he touched. Time slowed down again: the sweep of Steve's eyelashes, the hitch of his Adam's apple, his visible ribs expanding, contracting. Steve nodded for him to go on. Reality shifted sideways as Rick dared to examine the landscape he planned to invade. He couldn't help blushing. Was this how he looked and felt to the others, superficial variations aside? 

Steve not only let him, he gave himself over to Rick's care, it seemed. He held still for fingers one and two, beyond semi-spastic jumps of the fine, flat tendons in his thighs. Rick was scared to add the third, scared he'd hurt Steve but the guitarist was all but begging. So he pulled a little, wiggled in his ring finger. Recalling a little belatedly how Sav had found that spot inside him, he felt around. Was body temp that high normally? It was cramped, slippery, and he had no idea what he was doing. 

"In front," Sav murmured. "Kind of a bump. Turn your wrist." 

The noise Steve made, wounded and in heat, his pelvis jerking to chase Rick's fingers, would echo in Rick's mind to the end of his days. Like never before, the instinct to be inside someone and _take_ roared through him. If that was Rick's situation, he wondered how was the guitarist not having some sort of aneurysm in his knob because it was a strangled-looking purple and leaking so much that a thin, silvery line spilled over the side of Steve's flank. Shite, he had done that, made Steve want it this bad, too. He could wait no longer, his own hard-on so packed with blood that Rick felt light-headed, but so heavy between his legs. So needy. 

In the background, Sav tore open a condom packet, another thing he'd forgotten about in his eagerness. Rick wiped his fingers on the sheet next to Steve's thigh and grabbed the rubber, baring his teeth. He needed to deal with it himself; he didn't know why but he didn't want Sav touching him right now. The glare he threw must have said as much. Sav didn't try, only handed it over and scooted out of the way, the bottle of slick left within reach. Remembering what Sav had done before he'd... entered... Rick drizzled a bit over the outside of the latex.

The tightness that had banded around his digits was going to feel so damned good. Rick lined up. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Met Steve's. Pushed. The buzzing in his ears began to throb to match his heart, his dick. His entire body thudded; he'd gone so fast into that greased socket, they slammed together. Opening his mouth, Rick cried out high, thin, in shock at the unimagined squeeze-grip-flutter all around him. But after that, every subsequent thud was deliberate. They surrendered to the primal dance, it came natural. So maybe he'd only done it a few times in his life thus far, but he'd been born for this just like he'd been born to play the drums. Beat the skins. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Steve was stuck on the word. Sav perched over on the edge of the bed again, grunting quietly, rhythmically, erection standing straight up in his lap with his fist flying up and down in short, jerky pulls but Rick only spared him a half-second perusal. He gasped in air like a drowning man, and concentrated. Oh yes, god, counting measures with the mental tick marks he used in songs, rather than numbers. 

The room faded. When he looked down at Steve, drum fills he'd never heard of crashed all around him, in his mind. And cymbals, loud and tinny-bright. The way his hips followed along   no, led   provided only the most basic, core rhythm, but he could expound and expand from there. He was years away from being able to play what he was hearing, anyway. Something was different about it. It wasn't him, but it was. 

Did Steve hear riffs and solos in his head when he was shagging? Which of their songs had originated in him going fast and hard, balls deep, Rick might be able to guess. Did Sav hear basslines, or some other guitar parts? Or was that just Rick? It had never happened to him before...

"Rick...!" 

Oh bloody hell, he'd totally spaced out. He jolted back into the present, into his own body where he was arched and contorted above the blond on his back, keeping an unearthly grind going. Automatic pilot. Hyperdrive. Overdrive. "Huh? Sorry!"

"Don't stop now, y'little bastard! Keep fuckin' me!" The shyness that had snagged Rick's attention gave way to a snarling ferocity. "C'mon! Move!" He pushed and pulled at Rick's pelvis a couple of times, but the message had already been received. Rick lunged and threw his head back in triumph when Steve bucked up under him. 

Yes! Steve liked it! Wanted more! Rick jerked his hips once, twice, till he found the right pace again, faster. It wasn't going to last much longer, not the way his body tightened. A familiar tingle invaded his lower half and Rick pushed for it, to its end. Sweat was running off him by now, drops flung this way and that whenever he flicked his hair out of his eyes.

Below, Steve tossed his head side to side, then arched. Rick could feel him slip a hand between them, and couldn't fault him for doing what he had to. "That's it, c'mon, harder!" The fingers of Steve's other hand dug into his arse again. 

A strangled sort of growl made him aware that the slip-slapping noises nearby abruptly ended. He almost laughed, didn't, and wondered why he'd found it sexy when Steve had watched him and Sav bonking and wanked over it, but when Sav did it, he found it silly. Food for future thought.

His arse and thighs tightened till they were on the verge of cramping. It was going to hurt, twice already and now he'd been going longer than he ever had with a girl or his hand. Fluids backed up and Rick couldn't hold off any longer. Till then, he hadn't noticed he'd been trying to delay. But he had, so that Steve would have time to ride it with him. "I'm gonna go off," he whispered. Then louder, because it seemed the more adult expression, "I'm gonna come!"

"Oh yeah?" Steve moaned. His hands were everywhere now, sliding over goosebumps on areas of Rick's back that seemed to be connected directly to his groin. His heels hooked over the backs of Rick's thighs. "You're gonna come, huh? Blow your wad, bust a nut, give it up? Do it, Rick, oh god!" 

"Such a dirty mouth," came Sav's harsh whisper. "You wanna let him fill you up, don't you...?" 

The best Rick could have described it was a deep, hypoxic dive ending in white light. He was straining, buried face-down now in Steve's neck, nose in his hair, with his mouth sucking another bruise into the juncture of neck and shoulder. It hit, not just the physical function called orgasm but like some part of his identity ripped and warm, gooey feelings spread everywhere. Love. That's what this was. Not 'in love' love, but something. Or were the two realisations, bodily and psychologically, the same metaphysical giving? 

As if following Steve's triplicate question to the letter, Rick gave everything he had. He tried to angle himself like Sav had done for him. His entire body vibrated with the force of it. Lifting his head, he looked into Steve's eyes, could see the change there a half-second before the spurting of warm spunk on his belly. The sound wrung from the guitarist's mouth embodied painful ecstasy, a curse and spell, as if to force them into one being. Then it all crumbled down underneath them like a house made of dust, and they collapsed into a slack heap of intertwined limbs. 

"Shit! Fucking ow! Yer squashing my balls!" Steve groaned, and the moment was broken. Sav was giggling again, toppled over, kissing Steve upside down while Rick, though he lifted up a bit, was still in him, slowly wilting. The earlier lesson not to pull out carelessly remained, as did Rick, till he was more or less pushed out. Immediately he stripped off the condom, wrinkled his nose, and chucked it over the side of the bed like Sav had done. 

How was he supposed to fit between or beside the other two? He still needed to figure it out, somehow. Neither of them seemed bothered in the least by the fact they'd each had a hand   and then some   in his education. So maybe it wasn't such a big deal. As Steve had said of similar transactions between himself and Sav, "I don't hate him, and he doesn't hate me, either." Careful wordcraft, Rick decided, that's all that was. No one was that blithe about it. 

He startled when Steve sat up, reached for his clothes and slid - carefully, he noted - into his jeans before going to the window, which he flung open wide. "Stinks in here," he snorted, by way of explanation. It wasn't exactly warm outside. Producing a pack of smokes, he lit up. 

"Can I bum one?" Rick asked. The craving was definitely more mental than physical. Although, the long, lean lines of Steve's body never failed to draw him.

"Me, too," Sav chimed in, already headed to the window without waiting for the go-ahead. Like earlier, he didn't bother with clothes. Rick tried and failed not to ogle. Noticing, Sav showed him his teeth. 

"Fine, fine, but you two gotta pay me back," Steve pretended to be grumpy. He fooled no one. 

Sav stuck a fag in his mouth, lit it, dragged, and exhaled the smoke out the window before quipping, "You can take payment out of my arse." 

"Holding you to it." Neither of them made any move to touch the other, but Rick could see the heated look they exchanged. Some things hadn't changed, then. He approached, and stood to Steve's other side. 

"Help yourself," Steve waved at the pack now sitting on the window sill. 

"Oh I will..." Rick said, doing his best to mimic the leading, playful-sexual lilt the older boys used. 

Sav snorted. "Listen to him. You'd think he was trying to pull or summat." 

"Wouldn't take much. You're easy," retorted Steve. 

"Look who's talking," Sav returned in mock offense. 

"Who, you?" Rick and Steve spoke simultaneously, then grinned at each other.

"Sod you! Anyway, I have to work later and I'll have to clean up... this," Sav waved at the bed. "Let's get some more sleep while we can." That explained whose house this was. Rick had never been upstairs here. The Savages weren't as involved with the band as, for example, Joe's parents. Though he didn't ask, he wondered where they'd gone, and what they'd think of finding their youngest and two mates naked in their bed. Inwardly, he cringed at the thought of Sav's very proper parents walking in on that. And he hoped Sav knew what he was doing.

"So how was he?" Sav braced his hip on the wall below the window and his elbow on the sill, facing Steve.

"Really?!" squawked Rick. "What is this, a critique? Right in front of me?" He dragged hard.

"Better than behind your back, don't you think?" Sav acknowledged him, eyes not leaving Steve's face. "So?" 

"What do you want? Scale of one to ten? You were here, you have eyes. Got you off, didn't it?" The other two waited. Steve, it seemed, was formulating a review. "A solid eight. Kid's not afraid to use his hands and mouth. He's got the right instincts on how to move, decent stamina... and a nice cock."

Rick dissolved into a coughing fit, and Steve reached over after a moment to pound him on the back. Finally he managed, wheezing, "Thanks. I think. Not a ten?"

"You never told me nice cock," Sav accused Steve. It was total bullshit, Rick could tell.

After his next exhale, Steve retorted, "You idiot, I wouldn't suck it if I didn't think so." His next words came out strangled as if he were speaking with a dick in his mouth. "Nice cock, Sav!"

They all chuckled over that. Rick decided not to pursue it, how Steve had rated him. It had been at least a point higher, in his books, allowing for the fact that how could one possibly know what a ten was like with less than that number under his belt, so to speak. He would just have to practice. The thought of that put a little half-second smirk on his lips.

The three of them flicked their butts out the window, and Sav reached through to pull it closed. What if the neighbors saw them? Rick wondered. It would only be from the chest up, but all three of them shirtless in November? He backed away, not out of embarrassment but because he might want to visit here again.

Being a teenager, though, he wasn't about to pass on the earlier offer of sleep when he could get it. First back in bed, Rick waited in the middle. Okay, so there'd been no big revelation, no more than the first time he'd been with a woman. But, he reflected, maybe that was the real truth. He couldn't foresee this changing anything, band-wise, either, beyond having to make a real effort to keep his hands to himself and his mouth shut about all this in public.

The others two crawled in on either side of Rick, and they rearranged the blankets. He hung on to Steve, who didn't turn him away. When they came, unexpected, he accepted Sav's light touches   just like he'd wanted more of before   making patterns on his back, and let himself drift.

 

It was definitely late morning now   bright, hurting his sleepy eyes   probably close to noon. Rick didn't want to move. Laying there, he took stock. Their vignette was imperfect: he had to piss again and his arse protested at every shift. The bed was really too small for three. His legs were sweating. Steve's breath wasn't exactly fresh as he slept with his head heavy on Rick's upper arm, deadening the nerves. On his right, Sav had his back to Rick, his bare arse shoved against Rick's thigh but otherwise not touching him. 

It was perfect.


	6. Epilogue

-1979 - November (a few days later)

"It's snowing," Joe observed as they walked into the wall of old-hops-and-cigarette-smoke in his local pub. Mid-week and the noise level was already enough they'd have to raise their voices to hear each other.

"Mm-hm. Look at that white stuff coming down," Rick replied. Belatedly hearing himself, he coughed once. "The snow... not..." 

"We get it."

After it had been done and over, nothing further had been said about Rick's birthday deflowering. He wondered if and when there'd be a repeat performance. Though he didn't want it that way, he was beginning to fear that it had been a one-off. 

Nursing his beer, Rick glanced sideways. The dark, varnished wood of the table was slightly tacky under his left elbow. In their usual booth, Pete and Joe sat across the table from him, Sav to his left, the wall to his right. Steve was on the end, next to Sav. Something was going on under the table, Rick could see the slow crawl of hands out of the corner of his eye, and that Joe was aware of it, and that Pete was trying not to be. 

"When do we go on, Saturday night?" he asked. "I, um... I'm gonna go home for a bit, me dad's picking me up from here." 

"Uh, ten-thirty. So be there at six," Joe said straight-faced. "You got a date or something?"

"No, I just wanted to see my family." Four faces all suddenly pointed in his direction. Steve leaned forward to see around Sav. No one breathed.

Under the table, a foot knocked into his. Rick didn't flinch. In fact, he stared Joe down, enjoying that he could bait the rest of them. "Are you... alright?" the singer asked. "You _will_ be back...?" His true concern was a little disconcerting. But then, Rick recalled what Steve had told him shortly before they fell asleep in the morning light, all blissed out. Maybe he could help with that now. 

Purposefully, gleefully Rick squirmed in his seat. "I'm fine. Or, I'll _be_ fine."

"Oh fucking hell..." Pete bolted across the room like negative light, and those remaining traded looks full of wicked humor. 

Joe looked over again, eyes super-focused to trap their little drummer boy   man   in his vortex. Rick shook his curls back and showed his teeth. Give him a few days. 

 

Fin.


End file.
